Chapter 38
I am not ready.
I cannot hold my own against an elf, so how will I possibly beat a dragon ?
Tomorrow?
The beasts are protected and only the weakest are sent to us for this battle, but even the youngest dragons, I’ve heard, are formidable. Arioch has a few trapped in the dungeons to breed for the Feast every half century or so. Xavelor was supposed to defeat the offspring, not me.
It was never supposed to be me.
We gather our things quickly and depart southward, stopping at Pally’s on the way. The Susali isn’t at this location, though. If I’d understood Ether’s explanation correctly, the woman is tending to another tavern for the day.
We fill our flasks and eat handfuls of bread crumbs. It isn’t much, but it’s better than the fish and berries we’d nibbled on over the past week. Though I’ve lost weight, I feel faster, lighter, more energized.
But feeling this way won’t do me any good against a fire-breathing monster.
For the rest of our journey, our conversations are sparse. A lot weighs on my mind, so any questions or passing remarks from either in my company are seldom heard.
That is, until Ether tugs on the line strung between Melanie and Claude to get my attention.
“Aldorin has blessed us,” she says solidly. Her hand settles warm against my thigh. I’d forgotten she is riding a pony half the size of Claude, so she can’t reach my hand. Thanks to that, all I can focus on is the pressure beneath each thin finger as she maintains contact with me.
“Thank you for the reminder.” I cough.
She gives my leg a hard pat.
“What I mean is, Aldorin’s blessing is an important thing. She wouldn’t make a mistake. And she will protect us. Protect you. You are half elf, after all.” Her hand retracts, but the warmth left behind is intoxicating. “You’re one of us.”
I’m not sure how to react. Do I thank her for accepting me? Do I acknowledge her confidence in me? Do I sing praises to Aldorin, a goddess I’ve never invoked?
I settle with a nod.
My face burns.
The cold air breezes past us. Over the last few weeks, I’ve grown to appreciate the sounds and smells of the world around me.
Or, rather, I’ve learned to use familiar scents and noises to navigate.
Strangely, there is little wildlife on our return journey to the castle.
Aside from the occasional chuff from our horses and the scuffing of hooves along the ground, there is nothing.
Not even a traveler, as there had been on our way to Hearthstrom.
I clear my throat.
“How much longer to the castle?”
Ronan exhales thoughtfully. “We’ve yet to cross the Aldorin boundary. From here, I’d say about half a day. Are you doing all right? Do you need anything?”
I shake my head. “No, I was only curious.” Leaning my head back, I ask, “Ether, are you doing okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine.” She sighs.
She’d mentioned having sore legs before. While mine are not, the phantom pain granted through our bond stings faintly in my thighs. She’s toughing it out.
I smile at the thought.
I could learn a thing or two from her.
Too bad there’s no time.
After a couple of hours, we reach Arcanvale. The town is much quieter than it was the last time we visited. That is, until we step into the pub.
Voices babble over one another and blare into the streets as soon as the door opens.
Gods, has all of Arcanvale squeezed into this tiny tavern?
Ether presses a hand to my stomach, keeping me from entering. She pulls me aside. When I nearly trip on the stone path, she mutters a curse.
“Ronan will go in and fill our flasks. It looks like the whole town is in there. We’d be suffocated.”
I nod as she pulls me down to a crouch. There’s stiff grass and cobblestone beneath us. I float my fingers over the ends of the blades and sigh.
The door creaks open, and two men chortle, hiccuping as they slur their words together.
“If we’re all to die, let us die h-h-h-happy!” one shouts.
“Right y’are,” the other belches. “They’ll have ta take our mead ’fore they can lay ’ands on us!”
“Oh,” the first one chokes. “Stragglers, are ye? Not missin’ much, I’m ’fraid. Ale’s all gone. We’re all doomed.”
His breath blows into my face, hot and sour. I hold my nose so I don’t vomit.
“Back off,” Ether growls. Her eluviam moves forward. The man grunts.
“Well, ain’t you a pretty th—Ack!”
“I said, back. Off,” Ether hisses.
“Save that fighting spirit for the Midran soldiers. I heard they like to see how women fight,” a new voice cuts in. Younger. Not inebriated.
I shift my legs and reach for Ether.
When I swipe at nothing, I know I’ve made a mistake.
The man laughs. “An elf and a blind man? How peculiar. And I thought things wouldn’t get much stranger after the king moved the date of the Feast.”
He’s a noble, then, traveling to the castle to spectate my duel.
“I’m glad we could entertain you,” I say gruffly. “But we best be on our way.”
As though on cue, the door creaks open once more, and cacophonous voices spill into the silent streets.
I can tell when Ronan stands before us, even though he is concealing his eluviam.
I’d noticed a while ago, but he’s been gradually retracting it.
At least this time I know he isn’t doing it to hide his identity from me .
“Is everything all right?” Ronan asks, his words flecked with warning.
“Yes,” I interject. “Let’s go.”
Ether leads me to our horses. I grab for the pommel and hoist myself up. When I lift the reins, the hair on my neck prickles, as if sensing someone is watching us. But neither Ronan nor Ether says anything, and they can see, so I ignore the premonition.
I rest my hand over my heart as Ronan ties our horses together. The weight of what our early return to the castle signifies sends cold daggers stabbing through my temples. The reins slacken in my other hand. I draw in deep breaths, but the air feels thin, and my pulse refuses to slow.
His hand falls on my shoulder.
“We are here. We won’t leave you,” he promises. “Let’s get back to the castle and do our best to prepare, aye?”
I gulp, huff a breath, and nod.
Ronan clicks his tongue, and Melanie whinnies.
We don’t stop again until we reach the castle.
I know we’ve reached Bellmane when the sharp tang of manure fills the air, mingling with the muddled hum of voices, all abuzz with talk of the Feast.
Nobles from estates across the kingdom and royalty from allied nations are expected to attend, their presence required for the coronation of Arioch’s heir. I’m not sure how many could come on such short notice, but I’ve never met a noble with more time on their hands than the ones of my boyhood.
Based on the clamor, I’d say not much has changed.
We continue along the side of the busy roads, no one seeming to pay us any attention—I hear no suspicious murmurs, nor any comments about our traveling trio.
Only bubbly voices, placing bets on a prince they’ve never seen.
Some think my chances are higher than others, but every gamble is baseless because they don’t know the prince they’re betting on is a far cry from the battle-hardened warrior they think he is.
Every part of this feels wrong. Breaking tradition is not commonplace, least of all when it concerns the ascension of the crown prince. Still, I have to keep my thoughts in order. As of late, they’ve overflowed with the burden I’ll soon bear once the crown meant for Xavelor rests atop my head.
We quickly reach the castle, thanks to Ronan’s crowd control, no doubt.
He gently helps me off Claude and orders a castle guard to stable our horses. Ether follows behind us as he directs me around the castle’s fortified walls. Aside from our discourse at the tavern in Arcanvale, she’s been silent.
I don’t think much of it. Or try not to, at least.
We’ve come to an understanding. The air between us is not uncomfortable. So I say nothing to disturb her from her thoughts.
“Oh, Rami!”
My breath catches in my throat, and my eyes moisten at the sound of Bear’s shaken voice. I can only imagine the frightened state of the woman: dress pressed without a wrinkle, hair pulled tight, and hands wringing together with perpetual worry.
I grab at the air, and the woman pulls me hastily into her arms.
“This is madness,” she mutters with a worried lilt.
“The Feast is fully underway. His Majesty has been entertaining guests since this morning. Gods know what is going to happen to Arioch! I’ve heard too many things.
The war front is moving closer to our borders.
Midra has learned of Xavelor’s death. Oh, Rami!
” Her arms tighten around me, and she trembles despite gripping me so roughly.
“I’ve been worried sick! Let me look at you.
All in one piece. Oh,” she sobs, her hand grazing my cheek.
I startle at the coldness in her fingers.
“You poor, poor boy. Whatever did you do to deserve this? Any of this?”
I probably appear to be malnourished, even though my heart feels strong in my chest.
My assumption seems to be correct, because her worried hands drift down my arms and hold my palms stiffly as she goads me forward. “Let’s get you something to eat. You two as well, come.”
She ushers us into the servants’ kitchen and sits us at a wood table.
We eat two loaves of sourdough bread. It’s stiff and scratches the tongue, but it is filling. She offers us fresh fruits and vegetables and encourages each of us to drink the milk reserved for visiting nobility.
“There aren’t many who were able to get here in time anyway,” she says. “We wouldn’t want the stuff to go to waste.”
The milk is thick, not separated from the fat. It glides down my throat like how I imagine satin or silk might taste. Smooth. Slightly sweet.
“How I’ve missed you.” Her voice strains to stay steady. “You’ve never been gone so long. And Ether, I missed her too. I…well, I…”
My heart stammers.
“I’m doing wonderfully,” I lie with a smile. “You needn’t worry. Whether the battle is today or tomorrow or the day after, I’m ready. Just watch. I’ll make you proud.” I reach forward and find her hand resting on the table.
This is the kind of confidence that will get me killed.
Her fingers curl around mine. “I’ve always been proud of you,” she says so quietly, I almost can’t hear her.
I take a deep breath, drink the last of my milk, and set the glass on the table.
Ether’s hand brushes against my arm. Her soft palm rests behind my elbow. The comfort is instant. She must be able to sense the panic slowly invading my every movement.
“Prince Ramiel,” a male voice sounds, muffled behind the kitchen door. It must be the same soldier who had traveled to Hearthstrom to retrieve us. “His Majesty has been informed of your arrival. You are to come with me and stay in Xavelor’s quarters tonight.”
I stand and hiss when my hip kisses the table. Ether’s hand steadies me.
“Am I not allowed to stay in my own room?”
The door scrapes open, and his voice becomes clearer.
“King’s orders, Your Highness. Now, if you would, please follow me.”
King’s orders . He must have something planned, then. It’s ridiculous for me to stay in a dead man’s room.
Quashing a grumble, I nod and offer a hand so Ronan can lead me.
“You must come alone,” the soldier says with distinct disapproval.
I drop my hand.
Of course he wants me defenseless. Without allies.
My arm straightens at my side, and my fingers tighten into a fist. Ether’s hand vanishes, and the floor seems to lose its physicality all at once. Though everything remains black, I become unstable, dizzy.
I rest my hands on my knees with a deep breath in.
“I am blind and require assistance. If my aide cannot lead me, you must guide me there in his stead. I’m unfamiliar with the layout of my brother’s quarters.”
The soldier’s approach is silent, and he gives me no warning before he clips my elbow with a gloved hand. In desperation, I reach for Ether. Or Ronan. Whoever grabs my hand first.
To my delight, both of them do. Ronan holds onto my wrist, and Ether grips my hand. Each gives me a reassuring squeeze, and my heart stirs.
No, I don’t want either of you to leave me.
The thought hurts like an arrow wound.
“We’ll see you tomorrow at the Feast. Don’t let dark thoughts deter you,” Ether says, her voice smooth as silk. Is she enchanting my thoughts? ( Can she enchant them?) Or am I savoring her voice’s sweet sound because I know I won’t hear it again until after my duel against the dragon?
My chest tightens and I nod.
“I believe in you, Ramiel,” Ronan whispers. Each of his words is weighted with a stony confidence that sends a tremor down my spine.
“You’ll see me tomorrow,” I say with tears in my eyes. The king is sure to keep me occupied. I know certain traditions cannot be skipped. With a shaky breath, I continue, “The next time we speak, I’ll be the Crown Prince of Arioch.”
Ether’s hand is the first to leave mine. Ronan’s is more reluctant. But the soldier hastily pulls me away from them, the kitchen’s thick oak door soon separating us.
The soldier informs me that he and a few others will be on guard throughout the night, so I should be able to rest easy before tomorrow. There won’t be much of an audience at the Feast, after all. Any embarrassment (or death) that occurs won’t be witnessed by as many, at least.
He ignores my requests to send for someone to help me change clothes and navigate the unfamiliar bed chamber. So, I’m left to clumsily and inefficiently undress myself before stumbling into the large, unused bed.
I’m not sure I’ve ever stepped foot in Xavelor’s chambers.
They smell similar to my mother’s—lavender incense soaks into the wooden furniture, the bedsheets reeking of the stench.
But somehow, the smell doesn’t bother me as much as it usually does.
Maybe because it’s Xavelor’s death flower now, not my mother’s.
I breathe in, then out.
Xavelor, how did you do it? Did you truly rely so much on dark magic that it became your undoing?
My hand brushes over my chest, where the searing pain from whatever beast tore my brother apart still simmers. Whether the dream was reality or not, the pain had been intense enough to stir a flicker of pity for him.
The thudding pulse under my shirt is severe. I likely won’t be able to calm it.
If only Ether was here.
I grow hot thinking of her lying here, next to me. So hot, in fact, I have to kick the covers off and let the cold, stale air steal the sweat from my skin.
I don’t sleep well, but I’m all right with that. Any more cryptic dreams, and I may have to reconsider everything once more.